I don't question the voice message from one of the mask-buddies and keep running. The flower laughs eagerly as more explosions ring out through the halls, only to be muffled by the thump and poof of sludge filling the area. I drop down a floor and look around with my awareness, feeling for threats, and there's more than enough of them to go around. No pollen this time, either. Whichever mask that was must be only on that floor.

"How do we deal with this?" the liquid construct asks. "Ooh, do you still have me in your reservoir? I need more of my body than this to help. My savior."

I shake my head. "I replaced all of it with Slice's radioactive goop. I think I have… maybe a flask's worth. Is that enough?"

The liquid construct hums hard enough to vibrate its entire tiny body. "My apologies, but no. I'd need about your body weight more to be able to help; otherwise you'd just end up saving me again."

"Can't have that," I chuckle humorlessly and summon some projectiles. "How far from the trial now?"

"We're very close. Drop down now, my savior."

I nod and kick open a door on the floor. Dozens of molten figures wait patiently through the hole in the floor, weapons at the ready. Not going down there. But I can feel a gap in their numbers about a mile down the hall… which is just about where the other group of molten soldiers is waiting for me down this hallway. I make a noise deep in my throat and turn hard to the right, open a door on the wall, and sprint through it.

An empty apartment meets me on the other side. I charge through the small space in a second flat and open another door on the other side that opens into another hallway–this one with less soldiers. Not none but less. A number that I can manage. I split my projectiles into smaller pieces and aim them at the dozen or so molten soldiers waiting around to get destroyed.

The wall explodes before I can fire a single one of them. All the molten soldiers pour through like a dam breaching, pouring over each other in a fiery slurry that reforms into people-shaped metal the moment it stops moving. I hadn't even considered that they'd be able to use the walls.

"Plan B, Shelby," Pearl cuts in. "Get a relocation as far as possible."

I nod in agreement and summon a relocation. It fits easily against a projectile, which I aim right overhead at the horde of molten soldiers. As I get ready to fire, something flickers in the middle of them all; magic that's a little more concentrated than the rest. Stuff that feels like a source. My initial instinct is that it's a trap. Nobody'd be stupid enough to stuff themselves right in the middle of their own created army.

Then again… someone had to open that door. I breathe through my nose and make a split decision. Another projectile and relocation pair. The first I launch as far as possible, sending it soaring above the crowd faster than the mass can react. Yet they do react; tracing the projectile with their empty faces like a crowd watching a smoking plane fly overhead. I feel at the mass with my awareness to try and discern where the anomalous magic reading is.

Right in the middle. Hasn't moved a step. I launch the second projectile-relocation bundle above the crowd, latch onto the relocation with my awareness, and wait until it's in the perfect place. It's only a second or two. But every thundering heartbeat makes it feel like minutes. It flies perfectly in place, hovers above the strange reading, and with a thought, it flares.

Suddenly, I'm looking down at the scene from just a little above. Hellish heat sears the very air, pulling the breath from my lungs as my eyes and awareness agree on the target. A single suit of armor that's a little less molten than the others. I fire three mini projectiles directly at it in the first heartbeat, then summon a shield to keep me airborne. All three slam home.

None of them do more damage than a little dent. But the suit reacts like it just got stung by three very angry wasps. It smacks at itself and grunts in pain, then all too late, looks up and realizes where I am. I feel the attention of the entire army shift to me as the commander does as well. But before a single command can be uttered, I drop an infusion directly on the commander's chest.

They wince, expecting a projectile to destroy them from the outside-in. My infusion does near the opposite; devouring the molten magic away in an instant and leaving a very immobile and cooled chunk of metal sealing the commander in. A muffled voice screams from inside. All the soldiers raise parts of themselves that melt into blades and start swinging wildly at my shield. They scrape and rip with deadly intent to save their commander from the airtight prison they made for themselves.

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I toss a shield down at my infusion and flare the other relocation–which the army has completely forgotten about. My feet touch solid ground for an instant before I sprint off again, holding up my hand to catch the molten-hot infusion coin that my shield just launched away from the army.

"That bought us a minute at most. Or two. Depending on how well they deal with panic," Pearl says. "Hopefully that's enough time for the mask-friends to show up and stall whoever that was for real."

The liquid construct raises an eye at me. With its hands. "May I ask why, savior mine, that you didn't simply murder that person?"

I open my mouth to come up with something, but no. The liquid construct is completely right. I should've just thrown a half-dozen projectiles at that lump of armor-shaped metal and blended the commander to a bloody pulp.

"Can't give you a good answer there, honestly," I admit. "It kind of just slipped my mind."

Somehow, that seems to be a good enough answer for the liquid construct. It makes a thoughtful noise deep in itself and turns to focus on the path ahead, which is blissfully clear from any interruptions that I'm aware of. My feet pound stone with an increasingly dull thud-thud, thud-thud like a kinetic heartbeat. As we get further and further, that sound alone fills the halls. No screams, no violence, just us.

It's so much more unnerving this way.

Two minutes pass. The liquid construct points down at the floor and nods. I breathe in through my nose and open a door, wading through the walls until the liquid construct holds up a hand for me to stop.

"Someone's here," it says cryptically. "There shouldn't be anyone here."

The corner of the room shifts. A painde with reddish-brown fur steps out of the shadows like an octopus shaking off its camouflage, and my awareness finally latches onto him. He looks me up and down, raises a hand to his forehead, and clenches his jaw.

"Sorry you have to see me this way," he apologizes in a voice I've never heard. "The guys are still looking for my mask piece. You didn't take it when you killed my construct, did you?"

Forehead? Mask piece? Oh. Right. "No, I didn't think to collect it. But someone else must've."

Forehead-mask–or Fore, if I'm remembering right, sighs in relief. "Perfect; I don't feel right without it touching my face. So; I just got a message from the quest saying you're in desperate need of a little biological touch-up. Is that true?"

"Could be," I say defensively. "But we don't have time. Liquid, where's the entrance?"

"To the uplifting trial?" Fore cuts in. "I know the way in. Soul's a really weird one, though, so be careful."

The liquid construct mutters something about an upstart, but doesn't try to cut in as Fore turns to the corner he was standing in and puts both of his hands against the wall. He brings the tips of his middle fingers together like he's going to try and throw open a pair of curtains, then digs his fingers into the wall and does exactly that. The stone comes away like fabric, revealing a pair of glowing runes carved into stone circles.

He grunts in effort after the fact and awkwardly shimmies to the side to make room for me without letting go. "I'll pull the system construct bits out of you once you're done. Construct, shellraiser, you two make sure she doesn't kill me when I try to do that."

"Of course," the liquid construct says.

"No promises," Pearl mutters. "Wasn't he missing an arm? Did he just regrow it?"

Good question. One whose answer is probably yes. I duck under his arm without a word and move to step on the plate. A dim, multicoloured sheen overtakes the glow as soon as my feet touch it, and I can feel something stirring at the back of my mind. I look over my shoulder and the heretic is just standing there half inside a wall. It raises a hand and makes a strange salute as something rumbles off in the distance.

"Ah, there it is; the problem," Fore shakes his head and laughs. "Me and the boys, we'll deal with this. You just make sure you do whatever you need to, boss."

Boss? I'm pretty damn sure I'm not this guy's boss.

The opening snaps shut before I can say anything about it. Leaving me standing in a closet-sized space with the heretic looking over my shoulder like a guy on the bus that's really interested in what's on my phone. It nods encouragingly, but there's nothing to encourage me towards; it's damn empty in here. How do we get this–

With a flash, someone's standing right before my eyes. She's got sandy blonde hair, makeup that looks like it took a lot of effort to look completely natural, and simple work attire. The kind of woman you'd see anywhere in any office all across Earth. I tilt my head to the side in confusion. Why the hell is this the Soul trial? Do I have to kill this random… oh. Oh, shit.

This is me.

I'm looking at me from before I got my Class Coin.

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